


Figure Drawings

by texting-zouis (fookin_tossah)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angsting, M/M, Pining, that's all there is.....so far, there's wanking, zayn's sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fookin_tossah/pseuds/texting-zouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is an artist and Louis is his model.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figure Drawings

**Author's Note:**

> This is to my other half. The Zayn to my Louis. Literally. If you follow my blog you'll understand. Here's to ending my hiatus as a writer. Bear with me as I get my flow working again. Excuse my mistakes. 
> 
> (Haha, get it, babe? Bear. Ha. I'm funny. You love me. Dis for you, boo ;))

Maybe it was the lack of sleep that caused me to be delirious, but I could have sworn that the numbers were moving on my math page. The black curved ink drops were vibrating and slowly shifting from one side of the white page to the other. It was eye-catchingly beautiful.

My eyes shifted to the right of me, picking up the forgotten pen and dragging it across the the page too quickly and continuously. It captured my easily distracted mind and forced my eyes to glaze over as I immersed myself in this simple sketch of a person.

But, alas, it was a short lived masterpiece. As the final touches were added to it, I felt the pen break beneath my gentle touch. The broken pen tainted my art, it ruined it. My eyes were wide, my jaw slack in shock.

“How high are you, Zayn?” Liam teased, not bothering to look up from the book that I was supposed to be paying attention to. 

“I’m not high, I’m just- I’m just-

“You’re just?”

“Tired.”

“Art?”

I nodded my head and then shook it, willing away the lethargy I felt in my body. I’d be lying if I said that this art course was killing me...no, it was doing worse: it was fucking torturing me. Laughing in my face and then mocking me as I failed time and time again. Fuck art. Fuck it all to hell.

Liam, in all his perfection and easy fucking classes, laughed at the distress in my face. Some fucking friend. He chuckled and pointed at the paper with the giant spot of black over it, indicating it was spilling over and onto the floor. I don’t care. Let it fucking cover this whole place up. 

It’s hard to care about dripping ink when you know the next class is just hell in its full glory. 

So the next hour drones on, the clock completely at ease with letting the time tick on. It doesn't care that I’m fucking terrified of my next class, it doesn't care that as soon as the larger hand hits the twelve; I’ll be in hell, it doesn't care and neither does my art professor an hour later when I enter his paint splattered room. He’s too fucking busy fawning over that prissy boy Harry Styles to care a shit about me. 

“You were made to do this, Harry,” his voice is thick with emotion as he takes in the new masterpiece of the week. 

“No, Mister Cowell, I don’t think so. See, I messed up here with the i-- 

“Harry, imperfection is what makes art art.”

My eyes roll of their own accord and I interrupt their little moment as I set my bag down heavily...and most definitely not on purpose. That would be rude and my mother would have my arse red and raw before I was ever rude to anyone.

“Mr. Malik, have you finished your latest ink drawing? It was due a few days ago,” he says.

I’m just another disappointment; to him and to my parents. It doesn't even hurt anymore. I know what’s about to come as I hand him the simple ink drawing that I spent hours killing myself over. It’s exactly what happens when I go home for holidays...

“This is...” he trails off, I hold back the sigh I’m tempted to release. “Good effort, Mr. Malik.”

Just fucking say it--fucking finish that sentence. Just say good try, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough for anyone, anything I do is never enough. Even though I spent endless nights on that thing, I kept working on it until my fingers cramped, nothing I do is ever enough.

So I sulk, pulling my hoodie over my flattened quiff and I hide. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to give up. 

“Today, class, we’ll be working on a new project,” the professor interrupts my sulking, pointing to my hood and making me remove it from my head. “I have a special present for the ladies,” he teases and looks around the male filled class which groan in response. “We have a very kind young model who has agreed to...well, model. Louis!” He shouts and a petite lad comes out from his office.

“Hi,” he says brightly to the class, his blue eyes dancing with warmth as his lips are turned into a tentative smile.

Then the cerulean colored eyes catch my own dark ones and I swear I’m drowning. They lure me in and pull me into the depths of them and I’m lost so deep into them that I almost choke when I realize he’s stepping into the middle of the art room and carefully removing his limited clothing.

Fuck.

“Figure drawings.”

Double fuck. 

A quick explanation from Mr. Cowell and a loud thud later, I’m here watching with bated eyes as the boy before us sits casually on the chair, opting to stretch out his lower body. I trail over his lean frame hungrily. Fuck. Fuck.

His blue eyes flick over and meet mine for a second, a small half smile gracing his lips as he adjusts yet again. Then fucktard Cowell is telling us to begin but I can’t find myself able to move as I see the perfect boy in front of me. 

With shaking fingers, I manage to grab paper and the sketching pencils. But my outline of his lithe body fails as the lines are a quivering mess, much like my hands. I can’t look at him. I can’t, but I have to.

I can’t lose myself in this, in him. Usually working in art allows my mind to relax for a few seconds as the only thing that matters is the next part of the drawing. But I can’t. I’m not reeling back inside my mind, no, I’m here watching painfully as a fucking god practically lounges on a chair a few feet from me.

My clear avoidance of drawing his junk finally comes back to me as that’s the last part left to draw. I swallow thickly, I’d been avoiding that...my eyes had been kept innocently on the rest of him, refusing to look at the area between his legs.

“Uncomfortable?” A low voice says from beside me. Harry is no longer hunched over his drawing, but instead is staring at my ratty sketch. His eyes clearly amused. “I guess it comes more natural for others,” he mocks and goes back to drawing Louis, making sure I watch as he begins drawing the one area I’m dreading.

The tip of the pencil touches the empty spot of the paper, but before it can begin its scribbling, Mr. Fuckface is putting a robe over Louis and letting him stand up.

“Break,” he says to the class and I slouch back in my chair, burying my face into my hands.

“Don’t worry, Malik. I’ll make sure to tell Mr. Cowell how hard you tried,” Harry says, fingers running through my gelled up hair.

And I’m shoving him back, standing and glaring at him. Fuck if he’s taller than me, fuck if he’s slightly bigger than me, fuck it all to hell. I’ll deck him. “Jesus, calm down, I was joking!” He shouts. 

“Fuck you, Styles,” I snarl, shoving him away again and moving towards the bathroom.

The door slams opens and I’m balancing myself on the sink, forcing myself to breathe. I can’t let these thoughts consume me. I can’t. I can’t.

I’m not a fuck up. I’m not a disappointment. I’m getting a degree in art.......fuck it all to hell. I’m not even good in art, anymore. This was a giant fucking mistake. I fucking ha--  
“‘ello, mate,” a soft voice cuts through the thoughts. 

My eyes open and are met with familiar blue ones in the mirror. They’re clear and they’re bright and so perfect.

“You’re one of the artists, yeah?”

I nod; I can’t speak, my mouth’s gone dry.

“Yeah, I saw you. You’re like, a quick worker. You must be very good.”

“Not really.”

“And you’re modest, that something to loo--

“I’m not being modest, I’m being truthful. Painfully truthful,” I ungrip the sink as I speak and turn, finding that his robe is wide open.

“You’re--uhm--yeah, your robe--shit. I’m not staring--it’s just--uhm--.”

“You’ve been staring at me naked for the past, I dunno, over half hour, this should be fine to you, yeah?”

I look down again, my own cock twitching as I stare at his. Fuck. I move past him and go back to class, seeking to hide for the rest of my life. He comes back after another minute, face slightly pink and eyes cast down.

Louis settles down back to his old position and they’re all drawing. They’re all settling into their own fucking little bubbles, another drawing towards their degree while I’m suffering to stay focused on the task ahead of me and not the tightening in my pants. Can this get any worse?

And it does, for one look at Louis and he winks at me. My face gets hot and I feel it become red, then my knee hits the bottom of the table as I try to adjust my trousers.

“Shit,” I hiss out.

He did that on purpose-- I hope enjoyed my fucking reaction. I hear a strangled sound leave him, I look at him again to find that he’s struggling to stay composed. His face contorts again and he’s biting his lip, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Sorry, I just...give me a moment. I’ll be ok,” he giggles out, looking directly at me.

Louis gives me one final smile before returning to his pose from before, his eyes glancing at me every few seconds. And I haven’t done anything. My drawing is completely untouched and I just stare between him and that piece of paper laying before me. Both taunting me...one making my tights feel tight while the other is making me shake, knowing that it’s just a failing grade waiting to happen.

“Get going, Malik,” Simon’s obnoxious voice says from behind me, barely glancing at my paper before going over to fucking drool over Harry.

My jaw clenches and I look over to Louis, his eyes already in my direction. But, instead of dropping the stare, he keeps it and then glances down to his cock, then back up to my eyes. And then another. Fucking. Wink. I groan out in frustration, pulling the hood over my head and covering my drawing as I begin to draw his penis.  
And by the time the second break arrives, I see that I drew it lopsided and crooked. I spent a good while working a the damn penis just to have it come out lopsided and ugly.   
What the fuck is wrong with me? I have one of my own, it should come out perfect.

I shove the incriminating drawing of Louis away and bury my head again. I hear a soft, high chuckle from above me. I look up and find Louis staring at the drawing.

“Damn, I knew my cock wasn't pretty, I just didn't think it was that ugly...or crooked,” he turns his head sideways as he says this.

“Told you I fucking sucked at drawing.”

“You don’t suck. I just distracted you...I’m very good at distractions.”

“I agree, you interrupted me from sulking and now you’re distracting me from going back to sulking.”

“Why’re you sulking?”

I take the paper from his small hands and glance down at it. “Because this shit is ugly.”

“I’m ugly?” He asks, looking small and less confident.

“No, you’re beautiful. I’m just a shitty artist that can’t draw beautiful things,” I confess, taking the drawing to Mr. Cowell.

He glances down at the paper, “done already? You have more ti-

“It’s not going to look any better regardless of how long I work on it.”

“You kno-

“I know, I know, it’s fucking disappointing and crappy. Have a good day, Mr. Cowell. Go look at Harry’s to erase the bad taste mine left in your memory,” I mean to sound snappy and mean, but it comes out defeated. 

So I turn and get my shit and leave, sneaking a glance at the beautiful boy sitting in the chair. He’s watching me leave, so I nod at him quickly before turning and walking the deserted hallways. 

I hate figure drawings.

 

..........................................

It’s the regret of becoming an art major that gets me. I’m sitting alone on my bed, sketching away at things that used to make me happy when it really hits me: I regret following my dreams more than anything. How fucking pathetic am I?

I should’ve listened to my father...my perfect fucking father that gave up his own dreams to put food on the table--or at least that’s what he tells us. He says that we have to brave enough to do the things we need to do and give up the things that we want to do. And I never listened when he’d tell me that, when he’d warn about life. 

I’d tell him to sod off and go to my room and draw. I’d win the praise at school for my art, I’d win the stupid little contests, I’d get everything and prove my dad wrong. But he was right, again. 

“I thought you hated drawing?” Liam interrupts my destructive thoughts, walking into our shared room and planting himself right next to me.

“What?”

“I thought you hated drawing, so why bother doing it?”

“I ‘dunno.”

Liam rolls over on the bed, pressing himself closer to me and resting his head on my lap. I should be bothered by this, but I’ve known him for years and it doesn’t bother me like it should. Instead, I place my hand on his head and gently rub soothing circles into his brown hair.

“Just like vaginas. You hate them but you still keep doing them,” Liam says, muffled slightly by sleep already.

“What?” My fingers freeze in his hair, I feel my whole body tense up.

“You heard me...you hate vagin--

His sentence is cut off by the sudden lulling of his head, his light snores trickle into my ear. I can’t be in here anymore, I can’t be faced by this reality--any reality, really. Gentle hands ease back the sleeping Wolverhampton native into the pillows, letting him sleep on my bed.

My shoes ease onto my feet quietly and I’m off, walking out of the dorm and into the night. Already Liam’s revelation and Louis’ face are killing me. It makes sense though, but it can’t be true.

My shoes pad lightly but swiftly as I move further and further away from the dorms. It’s already dark out, the night covering the streets in a blanket of royal blues and purples. Slowly, the blanket itself begins to darken until it’s a shade of almost-black.

I’m scared, it’s ridiculous, but I am scared. I’ve always been scared of the dark--of everything, really. But it’s a fear that keeps me walking, I can’t stop because if not something bad will happen and-and is that a firework?

I walk forward until I can see the silhouettes of two people, one I know more than I probably should, and the other not at all. Louis’ sparkler is bright in his hands, I wonder where he actually got that? His bright laugh cuts through the peaceful night, he’s loud as he spins and chugs back some liquor.

“I’m a fairy princess!” Louis screams out, the other fellow dancing awkwardly beside him.

“You’re a fairy regardless of the sparkler, Lou,” the other says with a thick foreign accent.

“Don’t ruin my mood, you Irish-buzzkill!” He accuses, waving the firestick at the other.

God, Louis was really magical. I stayed there for what felt like hours, watching as he lit one stick after another. They laughed hysterically, finding comfort in the small sparkles they created, not afraid of the dark. Not like me. 

Louis suddenly seizes up and jerks away from the other one. “Niall, did you just spit on me?”

“No, I think it’s raining.”

My brown eyes flick up and catch a water droplet, I look down and try to blink away the rain drop. Fuck, seriously? It’s going to fucking rain right now? Fucking hell.

I move begin to move away from the scene before me, waiting to watch for them to run. But they don’t and the sky unleashes the held back rain, drenching all of us completely within a matter of seconds. And Louis’ laugh rings out above the rain, he’s dancing again. He’s not seeking shelter like I am, he’s not running away, or afraid of the dark, or anything. 

He’s losing himself in things that scare me--even him. He’s so lost in everything around him and lost inside of himself that he’d never look at me. Louis wouldn’t dare look at such a coward, let alone ever like one. 

“I’m queen of the world!” Louis’ voice cuts through the rain again.

“He’s queen of the world!” Niall agrees, shouting and grabbing Louis, spinning him around in circles, squeals of delight leaving the both of them.

And I run, I run away from the both of them and back to the dorm a sobbing mess. Liam’s awake and he holds me, apologizing for saying what he said whilst he was in a sleepy haze.

“Zayn, it’s ok, it’s alright, sh. Stop, you’re ok. I’m here, I’m here, Zayn.”

“Liam, I can’t be...I can’t tell them. Fuck, I’m disgusting,” I manage to say, feeling the sobs raking through my body.

“You’re not disgusting, you’re beautiful, Zayn.”

No, I’m not beautiful. That’s Louis. He’s beautiful and fearless and he’s all that I want, but can’t have. He’s exactly what my father warned me about, something you desperately want but can’t go for. Liking Louis Tomlinson isn’t an option for me.

........................................

 

“Is it his eyes?”

“Shut up, Liam.”

“His lips? They look soft.”

“Shut up, Liam.”

“Think they feel soft?”

“Shut up, Liam.”

“Louis is a very good fir-

“Liam! Shut up!” I finally yell, flinging some of the ketchup on my burger at him and earning a few stares from people, including the said person Liam was...discussing.

“What? I’m just curious! I’ve never had a gay f-

“Finish that sentence and I will not feel guilty when I deck you.”

His laugh echoes around the courtyard, it’s loud and boisterous--the only thing loud about him and it’s his fucking laugh. But it’s also infectious and I find myself laughing just as loud.

“Lover boy is staring at you,” Liam mumbles, nodding as he bites into his pizza.

I feel my cheeks get hot again, refusing to turn to look at Louis. But I cave after a few seconds and I let my eyes roam passed all the tables and to his, finding him immersed in a conversation with blondie.

“Fucking prick, he’s not.”

Liam laughs again, spitting out the pizza from his mouth. “You looked, didn’t you? Ha! I knew it.” 

“Shut it, twat.”

“I’m sorry. But he was staring.”

“Liar.”

I take a bite again from the nasty burger, grimacing as the taste awakens my tastebuds. Settling it down gently, I look up at Payn-in-the-arse. “Was he really staring?” And I set him off again, laughing and choking as he manages to say something about me being a school girl. “I am not!”

“You’re acting like one. Look, Zayn, just talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“That...you--uhm. Zee, just do that thing you do with girls.”

“Sulk in a corner and wait for them to talk to me?”

“Perfect. That’ll get you s-

“Nowhere. It works on girls, it won’t work on him. Besides, he’s too good for that.”

I can feel Liam’s eyes boring into me, but I won’t look up. “Zee?”

“He deserves someone who has the fucking balls to just talk to him. I’m just not that person.”

“But you can be.”

“I won’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I have class, Li.”

He gets up as I do, following me as I take a slightly different way.

“Is there a reason you’re taking the long way to your class when it’s clearly not in this direction?”

I smirk at Liam before looking directly at my reason: Louis.

......

 

For three hours every Tuesday, today, I’m alone. Liam chose to get a class while I chose a free period, it works out. I get some time to catch up on my work without Liam being the sole reason I’m being distracted.

But it’s also lonely, it reminds me that without Liam, I have practically no one else. So I turn on the tv, finding the silhouettes of the images dancing across the room enough to fill me with comfort. The laptop buzzing on my lap slowly gets hotter with the more time that passes. I look up occasionally from the online work to find something new happening on the screen, some weird American movie. It’s all a good distraction from that magical boy who happens to invade my mind at all hours of the day and night.

I look up once more, when the question flashing across the screen is fairly easy, and catch the two female leads in a strange embrace. Their heads suddenly tilt and I gulp when I know what’s about to come.

I expect that small pull in my lower abdomen I used to feel when I’d see this, but it never comes. I sit there watching them for a while as their hands roam under their shirts and play with the other’s breasts. But it doesn’t stir anything in me.

In annoyance, my hand flies to the control and shuts it off, flinging it to Liam’s bed once it’s done its job. I breathe heavily into the now-silenced room and try to rid myself of the thoughts that come to mind. It’s been one day and I’m already obsessing about him. The thoughts are all Louis, his eyes and his lips, his mussed hair, his toned but lean torso....Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There’s the stir; it’s right below my navel. Just the mere memory of the boy has my cock hardening. But that’s all it is, a memory of him sitting there. I can’t...make up something in my head of him. I can’t imagine him doing anything in my head because I’ve been straight for nineteen years, I don’t know how to be gay. 

Another fucking reason I’m no good for him.

But you can be.

Liam’s words echo in my head. I didn’t even realize what I was actually doing until I was browsing through videos of men on the internet. What the fuck am I doing?

What the fuck is he do--oh. I bite my lip slightly as the sight before isn’t as horrifying as I expected it to be. No, it’s not like looking for women. The erotic videos before me cause my cock to harden again.

I click on a video, the one with the most views, and find it to be two boys, maybe a year or so older than me. It starts off with their tongues already delved deep into each other’s throats, earning moans from each of them. It’s not like kissing a girl, I figure out as much, it’s rougher.

You don’t have to be as gentle or as soft and caring, the two boys prove this when the other shoves one of them to his knees. My mouth goes slack at this, inching closer to the screen without realizing it, and finding myself wanting something I never thought I’d want before. I want to see him give a blow job...I want to fucking see it so badly that I whimper softly when they don’t hurry up.

I shove the laptop off my legs and adjust myself properly, my eyes never leaving the screen. I exhale loudly as the boy on the floor finally leans in, his eyes never leaving his partner’s. He doesn't take the erection before him though, he doesn't do the one fucking thing I want him to do.

He kisses his way down from the other’s bellybutton and to his inner thighs, working his way up and then moving to the other side. I and the boy in the video groan in frustration. But he hisses and I moan when the boy on his knees slides his cock all the way into his mouth.

My hand moves of its own accord, slipping past my waistband and gripping my length, spreading the pre-come down my shaft. And I pump to the pace that the boy bobs his head, yearning for his mouth to be on my length.

I lean back and slow down slightly, closing my eyes and just listening to the moans of both the boys, imagining the one with the higher moans to be Louis, moaning around my own cock. A loud moan escapes me as the images of his mouth filled with my cock make my hips buck up.

“Fuck, fuck, Louis. Uh, Louis,” I say his name, biting my lip afterwards to keep it from tumbling out of my mouth again, but that fails.

His name is spoken in between broken moans, the other boy’s sinful noises bringing me that much closer to that sweet bliss. Fuck, it’s right there. I’m so close.

“Loui--

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Liam yelps, shielding his eyes.

In an instant, I’m slamming my laptop shut, tucking myself back in and yelling at Liam to close the door.

“Well, by the sound of things, it really did sound like you and Louis were making love.”

“Then why the fuck would you come in?”

“To tell you I told you so! I didn’t think you’d be...wanking.”

“Sod off!”

Liam’s red too as he sits down, eyeing the controller on his own bed. “Has this been soiled by your dirty ha-

“Liam!”

“Right, sorry. Ok. So--uhm--should I leave so you can finish or wh-

“I’ll take a cold shower, thanks.”

And I do, cursing Liam to hell and back as the freezing water calms my raging hormones down.


End file.
